She stood and went to make coffee, handing the cat to Noa, who, fumbling, sat back, eliciting another tirade from the cat. When it calmed down, sitting it between his legs, he began to watch her from his bedroom. He watched the sway of her hips, those tight pants drawing up, her shape distracting, even as she pulled that sweater back down, scratching her head. Seconds later he smelt that familiar cheap coffee smell, that strange, off-color burnt smell you’d normally associate with burnt coffee that’d been sitting on the burner for too long. To avoid this, he’d normally brew it one cup at a time. Filters are cheap, he reasoned, but coffee wasn’t, so why waste it? The cat was getting impatient, shouting off another report.

[“Sumimasen, Wakarimasen!”]

Noa looked at it.

“What’re ya even trying to say anyway?” he asked as she entered again, two cups on a platter, steaming, and she sat down with it, sitting it on the squat wooden table in front of them.

“Your coffee is awful Noa.” She said, smelling it.

“What? It’s fine. Cheap shit is always awful.”

“That’s not the point.” She said, moving backwards, crossing her legs. “Even if I where a poor dumbass like you I’d still buy the top shelf stuff. You’re not doing much with what you’ve got anyway.

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